Smarmy git, she thought, as she finished the call.
The next thing on her list was to phone Deakin and ask him to start pumping his contacts for any gossip relating to Tyler. Deakin, she knew, had a half-dozen well-placed moles that the paper regularly quoted as ‘a reliable source within the Metropolitan Police Service’.
She finished the call and looked at her watch again, conscious that she had a tight deadline to meet. Terri had been allocated the front page and a double page spread in the centre of tomorrow morning’s paper. That’s not too shabby for a girl still fighting to become accepted, she thought, allowing herself to feel a trifle smug.
The killer had been right when he said this was a big chance for her. With a little luck, and a lot of hard work, the story would establish her as a credible investigative journalist, and even the diehards would have to stop treating her like the new girl on the block. She had also decided to go with Paul’s brilliant suggestion about keeping a diary and writing a book when it was all over. A quick glance at her watch revealed that the time for daydreaming was over; she had to crack on, while she still had some chemical induced energy left. Stifling a yawn, she left a decent tip on her table and set off towards Charing Cross Road, where she could hail a taxi. There was a lot of work to be done.
◆◆◆
James Sadler was watching the evening news bulletin on a large, wall mounted TV in the practice’s staff room. His receptionist, Doreen, was also there, preparing them both a cup of tea before the evening surgery got underway.
On screen, interspersed by snippets from the earlier press conference at NSY, Terri Miller was doing a sterling job of answering questions about the New Ripper killings.
“What do you think about these murders?” Doreen asked him as she waited for the kettle to boil.
“I don’t think about them at all,” he said.
“It’s alright for you blokes,” she continued, undeterred by his apparent lack of interest. “You’re not the ones in danger, unlike us girls. Honestly, it’s getting to the point where I’m terrified to go out alone.”
As he often did when she rambled on, Sadler ignored her. He had been tied up dealing with patients for most of the day, and this was the first time that he’d seen the footage.
At that moment, Porter appeared on screen. “Firstly, I want to reassure the community of Whitechapel that we are doing everything humanly possible to catch the perpetrator. With immediate effect, there will be significantly increased patrols throughout the area, and these will remain in place until he is in custody.”
Sadler yawned. That was the standard police response in a case like this.
“Secondly,” Porter continued, “I would like to speak directly to the killer, who I am convinced will be watching this broadcast.”
Sadler used the remote control to turn the sound up. “Be quiet, please, Doreen,” he snapped at his receptionist, who seemed to have developed a bad case of verbal diarrhea and was completely oblivious to the fact that he was trying to follow what was being said in the broadcast.
“You think you’re cleverer than us,” Porter declared, staring straight into the camera lens for greater effect, “but you are not. You’re just deluded. You think you have power, but you don’t. You are beyond pathetic. You think you can do anything you want. Well, take it from me, you can’t. Start looking over your shoulder in fear, because we are closing in on you and we will not rest until you are safely behind bars, where you belong.”
“Bravo,” Doreen said from behind. “It’s about time one of them coppers had the balls to say something like that.”
Sadler shook his head is despair. The woman really could be stupid at times. “Do you honestly think anything good can come possible out of an outburst like that?” he sneered, “because I would have thought it was blatantly obvious to anyone with half a brain that goading the killer can only make a bad situation worse.”
Doreen crossed her arms defiantly. Unlike the other two doctors in the practice, who were both lovely, she found Sadler to be very opinionated at times. No wonder he was going through such an acrimonious divorce, if the rumours were to be believed.
“Well, I think it was very brave. It might not impress the likes of you, but it makes working class people like me feel much safer knowing that a man like him is looking out for us.”
Sadler scoffed at that. “I think you’ll find that he’s only looking out for himself,” he told her. He had never met Porter, but he knew the man was ambitious, and he was clearly trying to use all this free publicity to make a name for himself.
“In my humble opinion –”
“Sorry, Doreen,” Sadler interrupted, standing up. “I’ve just remembered I’ve got to make a quick phone call before surgery starts.”
“What about your tea?” she asked.
“Keep it warm for me,” he shouted over his shoulder.
CHAPTER 25
Porter was getting ready to leave the office when there was a tentative knock on the door.
“Come in,” he called, wondering who could be calling this late on a Thursday evening. After all, he wasn’t the on-call senior; that was George Chambers. To his surprise, Brian Johnson poked his head around the
